COO COUNTER-REBUTTAL
From: Luna M. Whiskers, COO & Bringer of Order
To: Charlotte “I Run On Pure Arrogance” Calico
Subject: Absolutely Not, Your Grace
1. OPENING REMARKS
Charlotte, darling, your rebuttal was… how do I put this gently?
Delusional.
Regal, yes. But delusional. Your sense of self-importance could power Philadelphia for a week.
2. ON AUTHORITY
You claim I have “no authority over anything.” Let me clarify:
- I run the schedules.
- I run the household operations.
- I run Hissing Resources.
- I run mama’s bedtime routine because SOME cats (ahem) stomp across her hips like they’re re-enacting the Battle of Winterfell.
- And MOST IMPORTANTLY:
I run YOU when you forget you’re not supposed to eat the special treats.
Don’t make me pull the receipts. I have a Polaroid camera.
3. ON THE SURGERY
You act like you “approved” it. YOU?
Madam, you approve nothing. You simply announce things like a weather system and everyone pretends to listen until you’re done. Meanwhile I — Luna M. Whiskers, will be:
- Ensuring mama’s rests
- Ensuring no one jumps on mama
- Ensuring the Small Loud One doesn’t bring her ABBA tour to the recovery bed
- Ensuring Willow doesn’t sneak snacks onto the incision site
- Ensuring Lilith doesn’t summon a healing spirit that turns out to be a raccoon
You? You’ll be perched on a dresser like a judgmental gargoyle giving unasked-for commentary.
4. ON TARTIFLETTE
Your refusal to call her Tartiflette has been noted. She has filed a complaint written in crayon on a Burger King greasy wrapper and she drew a picture of you being eaten by Scorchio. I’m not saying she’s unhinged. I’m saying she’s… creatively unrestrained.
5. ON SCORCHIO
You keep invoking Scorchio like he’s your emotional-support dragon. Newsflash: The dragon is a seasonal employee. I checked the files. He does NOT take sides. And if he did? He would choose me, because I have snacks.
6. ON YOUR “DIGNITY”
You strutted through the house last night with a plastic cauldron stuck on your head. I rest my case.
7. ON THE REST OF THE HOUSEHOLD
Ziggy: furniture, sleeping as usual
Lilith: vibing, lightning white candles and burning sage
Luna: CARRYING THIS ENTIRE ORGANIZATION ON MY BACK
Which, ironically, is in better shape than mama’s, hence the surgery, which I will manage.
8. CLOSING STATEMENT
In conclusion: Charlotte, I adore your face, your floof, your fashion, your flair, but you are about as helpful as a broken stapler in a hurricane. Mama needs calm, order, stability. competent leadership and one of these clampy thingies to pick things from the floor. And that, my queen of chaos, is me. That will ALWAYS be me.
You’re welcome.
Again.
Signed,
Luna M. Whiskers, COO, Operations Commander, Binder Enthusiast, Professional Herder of Dumb Decisions
*****************************************
THE GREAT OMERTÀ–OMELETTE WAR OF 2025
The hallway echoes with shrieks. A binder flies. A tail fluffs. Someone knocks over a shoe.
Luna (COO, furious):
“CHARLOTTE, YOU BROKE THE OMERTÀ! The sacred vow! The code of silence! You cannot just—”
Charlotte (outraged, dramatic):
“I DID NOT BREAK AN OMELETTE! It was TWO EGGS, and it was YEARS AGO, and HOW DARE YOU BRING IT UP NOW?!”
Luna:
“OMER–TÀ. Not omelette! Not breakfast! THE CODE. THE SILENCE. THE RULES.”
Charlotte (offended beyond measure):
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Luna, if you want breakfast JUST SAY SO. I do NOT cook, but I supervise magnificently.”
Luna:
“This is WHY we can’t have meetings. NOTHING gets through your fluff!”
Charlotte:
“My fluff is majestic and has nothing to do with your irrational desire for eggs.”
Meanwhile…
Tartiflette:
Has climbed onto the counter wearing a chef’s apron made with a surgical mask. She is beating the hell out of a whisk. She is screaming “OMELETTE! OMELETTE! OMELETTE!” She has no idea what an omertà is. She does not care.
Lilith:
Burning sage. Whispers: “Let them fight. The spirits demand entertainment.”
Ziggy:
Has slept through the entire scandal. Might be comatose. Nope—just snoring.
Willow:
Thinks they actually ARE making omelettes. Sits politely, tail wagging. Hopes cheese is involved.
Karen
Standing in the kitchen doorway like the only sane person in a telenovela directed by Wes Anderson and confused as hell. “…Did… did someone want breakfast? Because I thought we were talking about surgery?”
Charlotte (points at Luna with full aristocratic offense):
“SEE? EVEN IAIA THINKS YOU BROUGHT UP FOOD!”
Luna (losing her mind):
“No! No! No! No eggs!! No breakfast!! You broke the code, Charlotte! You TOLD everybody about me eating plants, I need them for my tummy—”
Charlotte:
“THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT AND YOU KNOW IT.”
Tartiflette:
“TREATS?! TREATS?! WHERE ARE THE TREATS?!”
Karen:
“…I’m going back to the couch.”
Luna:
“GOOD. NO ONE MAKE HER MOVE. SHE HAS A SURGERY COMING.”
Charlotte:
“Well I still refuse to discuss breakfast without proper utensils.”
Karen:
“Oh ye gods, this isn’t over, isn’t it? ….”
